Love May Be Found at the Most Inappropriate Time
by jjrw1998
Summary: Richard III and Anne Neville's wedding night, inspired by The White Queen. Posted here, as I am unsure where else to post it.


She had always wondered, of course she had, what it would be like in the marriage bed. But, now as a widow, she knew perfectly well what happened within the _sacred_ marriage bed, and she hated to admit it to herself, she feared that Richard, for all his sweet promises and caresses would be just the same. That he would hurt her, perhaps not as viciously as Edward had, nor with such lack of remorse or emotion, but that he would still hurt her.

She wondered again, what she had been thinking accepting his proposal, had accepted the marriage she had just entered into. It could not be for love, after all, love was something that those like her were not allowed, fondness perhaps, but love was not in her stars. He must have said it to entice her into the marriage- even if it was advantageous to both of them. She was a Royal duchess and he now had her share of her fortune at his disposal, but she had influence now. She was level with her sister, and George at least, could not impose his will upon her.

Richard, she had always thought, was the nobler and kind of the York brothers- perhaps then, he would be kind at least, doting even. Perhaps they would indeed come as close to love as they could? He was charming after all, and he had saved her from her sister, and his brothers grasp; there was a chance that he cared, cared enough to be kind, at least.

"Anne?" His voice was low and soft, even as he drew the heavy bolt across the door, keeping all disturbances out, even as she knew Edward had used it to ensure that she stayed in.

He was walking towards her, clad in his loose white undershirt and breeches, his hair was tousled. She clutched the white night-shirt tighter in her fist as she stood from the bed to greet him, stepping forward stiffly.

"Richard, my lord husband," she replied standing still as he stood in front of her. Clad only in a thin night-shirt she could feel the waves of body heat wafting off him, warming her slightly in the cool bedroom.

He frowned slightly, "Anne, do not call me such, we are equals in this matter," and he gently, almost carefully, lifted his hand and placed it on her shoulder. It was a light pressure, but an inviting one. His other hand came to rest gently on her waist, pulling her closer towards him, until their bodies touched. His body heat wrapped itself around her, warming her. "You need not fear this, Anne, for in this you have as much control as I." His voice was soft, even as he lent down slightly- it was endearing that his height was so similar to hers- to brush his lips chastely upon her cheek before pulling back to look at her, to gauge her reaction.

Equals.

In her mind's eye she was elsewhere, but for a second, trapped beneath him, crying, as he groaned and sweated above her. His eyes were flat and cold and his lank hair had brushed her face with each thrust.

Did he really mean equality in the marriage bed? Was such a thing a possibility?

Tentatively, she reached her hands from her sides and put them on his shoulders, the thumbs brushing the sides of his neck. He smiled, and his eyes seemed to brighten. He leaned forward again, his breathing was not yet too heavy, but heavy enough that she could feel it on her face, as he leant forward, before pressing his lips to hers, softly at first, almost like a breath itself, before kissing with more pressure, licking her lip and nipping it, even.

She actually rather liked this attention to her lips- Edward had never kissed her, nor had he looked at her, content instead to enact his pleasure, regardless of her. This kissing was rather intense, so intense it almost felt sinful. She wondered what the priest would say if she talked of this in the confessional.

She giggled into his mouth, and she felt his lips quirk up against hers, as he pulled back for a second to pull his shirt above his head, exposing his chest and stomach to her. His chest and shoulders were broad, and freckles dotted his skin like raindrops, he moved toward her again, not that they had particularly separated, his skin seemed to call out to her. To her, it seemed warm and inviting, stable and attractive. The jut of his collar bones from his skin made him seem oddly fragile to her, despite the muscle that was present on him.

She wasn't sure why, but she dragged one hand down his chest, flat and muscular, to reach the top of his breeches. There was a small trail of hair running over his chest and stomach, lighter then his hair, if only by shades. It too, was endearing, much like the low, almost growl, he made as she trailed her hand back up over his chest, and dragged her other hand down, to glance over his chest, the surprisingly firm nipples… He groaned, and it made her feel…almost safe, like this was good, that this was somehow right that she could pleasure him.

His hands started to trail down her body in turn, even as his eyes stayed locked with hers, as he gently pulled the night shirt up her body, exposing her pale flesh to the night air. His eyes were gone for a second as the white fabric obscured her vision, before he tossed it away. She was fully bared to him, and he, equalling the odds, removed his breeches in a clean efficient flourish.

He was definitely more muscular, and big, than Edward had been. She felt her cheeks stain red as she felt his eyes appraising her appearance in turn.

"You truly are beautiful, Anne." He said, his voice was lower, and rougher somehow, and it made something inside her flutter, and coil around something else that matched the rough tones of his voice.

She smiled, pulling him closer to her, unsure of what to say in return, her hands going over his shoulders to pull him closer, she felt her ring press into his back, but it didn't matter, because they were touching everywhere, bare skin on bare skin.

It was invigorating, and she could feel his arousal pressing onto her, but he did not press the point. He was waiting, she realised, perhaps for some sort of indication? What was she to do?

Uncertainly she moved backwards, pulling him with her, until her knees collided with the bed. Promptly, she let go of his shoulders, and leaned back, closing her eyes and waiting for the pain that she expected to follow.

"Anne, what are you doing?" He asked, and she opened her eyes, to see him leaning over her, so close, his eyes seemed worried, as if a thought had suddenly occurred to him, a thought which he would not like to be true.

Rejection, futile as it was, spun through her. Perhaps he thought her wanton, like a common kitchen maid? Or did not find her pleasing enough to actually consummate a marriage with?

"I- I don't understand-" She stuttered, breathing quickly at the soft, almost sad look that his face held,

"He was not kind, or considerate, was he?" He said, leaning down to kiss her temple, even as he pulled himself onto the bed beside her, and dragged her body round with him, until he had somehow manoeuvred her onto his chest. Her cheeks seared scarlet, unsure of what he intended to do.

"I still don't understand, Richard I-" She began, but he cut her off, softly,

"I will guide you, this way means that you control what happens, not me, so I cannot hurt you." His eyes were earnest, even as he lifted himself slightly to press a kiss to her lips, before sinking back down, content, it seemed to give her the time to do as she pleased.

Oh Richard.

He really meant what he said, it was clear now, that he cared, cared enough to let her do this, for her to set the pace, for her to do this. She knew that any other man would have grabbed her and consummated the marriage by now, but he…

She pushed herself slightly, startling at the low groan this elicited from him, as she pushed herself over him, positioned him above her. She was unsure, did he push up, or?

His hand reached her hip, as the other, carefully, moved up for her hand to go on. His hands were warm, and rough. Honest hands. The hand on her hips was careful as it gently pushed her down, pushed her to slowly impale herself on him.

His eyes were dark as she gently pushed down. It was still…tender, sore, but it did not hurt. It felt like bliss, and he smiled as she enveloped him completely, and as she drew up, pushing on his hand, even as he gently, oh so gently, thrust up to meet her half way.

It was gentle, and kind. And his eyes were dark, so dark now. She wondered if that was a good thing, or whether, god forbid, it was for another purpose.

Letting out a sigh as she re-impaled herself again, she heard him groan again, as he moved, somehow hitting something inside her that made it feel so wonderful. Like bliss, it flooded her system, and she must have groaned too, because he stilled his movement.

"Anne, are you hurt?" he said, breathing deeply.

"No, Richard, anything but," and she moved again, and he hit something again and there was more bliss.

So this was why people were always doing this, she realised. If this was joy and bliss, then she understood.

Richard was holding back, she realised, and she suddenly felt the love that was in his gaze, and she moved faster, up and down, up and down. It reminded her of riding a horse, somehow, and she smiled, leaning down to kiss his face.

He moaned as he spurted his seed within her, but he kept moving, and kept hitting _that spot._

She felt something within her, the tightly coiled tension and joy explode, and such a feeling of pleasure came too. She felt him smile as he pulled himself from her, and he felt his arms wrap around her from behind, murmuring sweet words into her hair.

"Anne, are you…I am sorry, I-" He paused, and it dawned upon her, that he was trying to apologise for something. "That was, I'm sorry if that worried you, it was not my intention." He breathed the last words, and she turned in his arms to face him, his eyes seemed to brighten as he saw the smile that had spread across her features.

"Richard, my love, what are you apologising for?" She asked, staring at him, even as a he mouthed the words, almost without meaning to 'my love'.

"I fear that I may have scared you and that you may not have enjoyed-"

"Richard, I fear you may think me wanton, but in this marriage bed I found love and bliss. And for that, there is nothing to apologise for, in the slightest."

He smiled at that, and pressed another kiss to her lips, before saying,

"Then I am glad, love of mine." He was quiet then; his breathing mellowed, but did not become the breathing of the sleeping. He rolled onto his back again, and somehow she was lying on his bare chest, feeling the beat of his heart in her ear.

She kissed his chest, and his heart seemed to stutter, as he kissed her temple again, before wrapping his arms more securely around her. Moving her own arms so they were comfortable, she felt herself drift into a bliss filled slumber, her love's heartbeat and breathing her soothing lullaby, just as her weight on him and her breathes were his.

Love it seemed was something that could be found in the most inappropriate place.


End file.
